Crackers
by Mikoto Jeevas
Summary: Francis tries to convince Arthur that blow-jobs are fun.   Rated M for manlove.   FrUk


Arthur stomped furiously on the ground, his face flustered from frustration. His hands dug into his own elbows, almost painfully.

"You sodding Frogface, that is absolutely absurd!"

"Ah, mon cheri, would I lie to you?" Francis practically trilled as he spoke, his words almost lyrical. A smug grin was on his lips, his eyes looked wild with passion and determination. A face he never often wore.

A dark glare was shot his way.

"Yes, yes you would!" The Englishman began to pace, his teeth clenched in a mix of fury and an utter loss for words.

He and the cocky Frenchman had been having a fling of sorts for the last few months. It started when Arthur went to get plastered with Alfred, a usual tradition around any military failure anniversary the Brit possessed. Tonight Al stood him up for a Rock Band tournament. Francis immediately swooped it on the unsuspecting Art and drank with him instead.

A few glasses later, Arthur found himself sobbing angrily into France's shoulder ranting on about how it Alfred was such a good boy when he was little, and how it was his fault the world would end in 2012.

The next thing you know, they were back at Art's place fucking on any surface they could find.

Francis would stick around until Arthur got so irate with him, he'd throw him out. Until he got drunk again, of course. Then there'd be some apologies thrown through sobs, and France's own personal consoling methods.

Now seemed like one of those "get-tossed-on-his-ass" days.

"Angleterre, I mean it this time," France pleaded, his arms out in front of him waving aimlessly as if it would help his case. Arthur swung around to furiously scowl, and France swore he could see steam coming from his ears.

"There is no way that your...your wanker tastes like _jellybeans_!"

If one thing could tear them apart quicker, it was Arthur's intense hatred for giving fellatio, and Francis' profound lust for receiving it. All he wanted was for the Brit to simply try it. Wasn't so hard, right? Sure, blow-jobs weren't exactly the most delicious thing in the world, but they weren't as bad as well...England's scones.

The thought of the charcoaled, rockhard objects almost made the horny blonde lose his hard-on, but the sight of Art's bright red cheeks and his brows knitted tightly turned that around.

Something was just so sexy about his anger. But for now, he needed to get some sort of action.

"M-Maybe I was fibbing a little...but it's not so bad! Mon cher, don't knock it before you try it." He tried the more logical route, for the making Art so angry he caved plan wasn't working all that well. Even if seeing the blonde worked up made him so hot, his poor lonely crotch needed attention.

France slunk out of the large bed, adorned in an eggshell white bedsheet, almost like a dress of some sorts. He wrapped his arm around England's waist, pulling on him. Nipping at his ear, causing the other to jump.

"It might not taste like blackcurrant, but more like..." he paused, trying to find something, anything, that was even close. "Crackers."

Arthur deadpanned and froze. He wasn't sure if that was a serious response.

"Crackers?"

"Oui," France purred into the ear his tongue was now tracing. Arthur squirmed in his grasp, though he was barely trying to resist. He slipped a hand underneath the waistband of the Brit's, him being the only one wearing a type of clothing at all, cupping him gently.

Art grew hard from the touch. His back arched into Francis, their bare skin rubbing together which make him utter a small moan. Swinging around the shorter man, letting the blanket fall around his feet, he kissed at his neck. Gently pushing on his shoulders, France had the other on his knees.

"Mon ange, I miss when you had more fight," he breathily spoke. Arthur wrapped his hand around France's hardened cock, starting to stroke it in a smooth rhythm. Francis closed his eyes, trying to focus on nothing more than the almost feminine hands on him.

This continued for a while until the Frenchman started feeling his climax about to peak, his knees about ready to buckle. A small amount of precum has oozed onto down his shaft onto Arthur's hand, lubricating it, making the motions slick and faster.

And just as France bit his lip, gripping the edge of the bed until he was almost white knuckled, ready to cum; Arthur stopped.

He had played this game before. The Englishman would whine about how he was bored with it and if they could just get it over with. Francis whined from the cold air on his member-

"Oh mon dieu!" France almost came right then as he felt Arthur's lips close around his head. A tongue flicked out on the tip, as if he was feeling around before going all in. The nation dared not say anything else, in fear of frightening Art off.

Arthur on the other hand tried not to gag from the whole ordeal. It definitely didn't taste like crackers or jellybeans. It did have a slightly salty taste, but for the most part his tongue couldn't seem to identify it as anything. Taking in more of France, which earned him a few spare curses in French, his nose scrunched up.

It was so...so strange, the feel of it. It was like nothing else, there was no comparison. And then he gagged. His eyes teared up, and he quickly pulled back. He looked up at France who seemed not to notice anything was wrong.

He tried again, this time not going as far, but using his tongue more. He could feel Francis shiver in pleasure. His inner thighs felt boiling hot, small droplets of sweat trickled down them.

Arthur felt as if he had Francis in the palm of his hand, the power coursing through his veins. Slowly, but surely, he gained a steady rhythm. Go down and slither his tongue around, and up sucking gently.

As Francis came, Arthur felt it rush into his mouth, hot and sticky. He swallowed France's seed and slumped, now sitting on the floor. A strand of cum and saliva fell on his chin. He licked it off.

The other nation fell backwards onto the bed, panting heavily. His head was reeling and he could almost still feel the warmth from Arthur's mouth.

Art crawled onto the bed and cuddled up next to him, kissing his forehead gently.

"You bloody Frog, that tasted NOTHING like sweets."

* * *

AN: H-Hello! It's been a long time since I posted a damn thing, and this is a present for my dear who inspired me to write this drabbley nonsense. Blame her!

I don't even like FrUk! ;w;

If you have any questions, comments, critiques, or maybe a typo I made, just hit that little review button! Anything is welcome.


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